I awoke at first light, feeling less than rested but ready
to move on to another place. I
walked outside with all my things to have a look at my situation. It was not good. The merge ramp was too short, and there
were two lanes merging into the merge lane which then had only about 100 yards
of stopping opportunity before the highway began. I passed this opportunity for later, and walked about a mile
to the nearest gas station. Here,
I began my vigil by making a ‘KC’ sign, and smiling at those who came through. After about 2 hours of this, I began
approaching some drivers and asking them if they were headed west. With few exceptions, every driver was
just filling their rental with gas for the return next door. This was not a good spot – but it was
the only gas station around. Just
about the time I was losing hope, the gas station attendant sauntered out of
his booth, out the front door, and right towards me.
“I can’t have you doin’ this at my station, man. You gotta move on”
And that was that – the merge ramp was now my only
option. About this time I decided
to call a guy named Joe who had posted something on Craigslist about a ride
West. He answered, and assured me
he would pass through St Louis at the end of the day – sometime around 7. This was a relief – I had a backup
plan.
I went to the merge ramp with my sign, and hitched with no
luck for about 4 hours. It was a
wonder to see thousands of cars pass me without stopping. Many people who passed me put their
fingers in the air with their palms never leaving the safety of the top of the
steering wheel. I think this is
people’s way of saying “sorry, I can’t help” – those who feel they should be
doing something, but aren’t ready to face the truth that they simply won’t help.
It was now about noon – I had been at it for 6 hours with no
results, and a rainstorm was moving in.
I retreated to the airport to work on my thesis and gather my
thoughts. I hadn’t eaten anything
all day, and the lack of sleep was catching up to me. I was exhausted, lonely, and out of patience. I didn’t want to be doing this anymore.
Looking around the airport in my depressed state, it was
easy to picture myself as the wayfaring stranger, unable to relate with those
around me – not part of their world.
And for some brief moments I felt alone, and hopeless, and wondered if I
was the one whose worldview was distorted and misguided – maybe society had
things right and I was just fighting against it too hard.
Second-guessing myself and my worldviews is something I do
often, but relenting my stance that American culture is disconnected and
isolating is not. I needed a
change in morale. I got some food,
packed up again, and headed back to the merge ramp. I waited another four hours – it was now about 5 pm. Joe wasn’t answering his
phone, and wasn’t returning my calls – my backup plan had failed. I wondered how many nights I would be
stuck here, how long it would take for the airport employees to catch on to my
strategy, and when I would find my next full night’s sleep. I had little hope of cars stopping
now. I can’t describe the feeling
with a better word than ‘stuck’.
Figuratively, emotionally, geographically. Stuck.
As the sun receded further into the horizon and my shadow
stretched west towards the long, lonely road to Denver, I wondered what to
do. I tried to remember that
getting ‘stuck’ has always been part of my hitchhiking experiences. The funny thing is how easy it is to
forget about being ‘stuck’ when things are going smoothly and rides are
available. Traveling alone is a unique experience. Exposed to the whims of strangers without control or
comfort, the highs are higher, but the lows can leave you feeling naked,
exposed, and isolated. This low was part of the journey.
About 5:30 a middle-aged guy in an orange SUV saw me and
slammed on his breaks to maneuver to the side of the road. I saw him rearranging a child seat in
the back of his car – I was with this guy as far as he could take me. He was from around the way, he said,
but he offered to take me a few exits down the road. I knew this would leave me with nowhere to sleep, but at
this point, ‘anywhere but here’ was all I could muster for motivation.
About 5 miles down he dropped me at a gas station in the
town of St. Charles. Most people
passing through were local, and the sun was starting to sink low. I stood behind the ice machine, set my
things down, and donned my sign ‘KC’.
After about 30 minutes a black guy in his mid-twenties driving a Honda
Accord with rim and exhaust modifications pulled up. He strode towards me after leaving the convenience store,
and greeted me with a warm smile.
He introduced himself as Darren. We had the basic conversation – where I
was headed, why I didn’t take another form of transportation, what my deal was.
“Well, I wish I could give you a ride man but I live just
down the block. But here, I am
blessed to offer you this. It
should help you along the way, you’ll need it to get where you’re goin.”
He shook my hand and held my eye, and I could feel the stale
crunch of money between our hands.
I felt more than one bill, which was a relief for me because I figured
Washington was the only dead president I would be seeing. I tried to refuse, but he was
persistent.
“I am blessed enough to offer you this, please take it.”
And so I took it, and thanked him profusely, and slid it
into my pocket without looking. As
he drove off, I checked my pocket to see how blessed Darren really was. I found 3 dead Lincolns staring back at
me… 60 bucks! I tried to chase him down to offer it
back – this was certainly too much.
Again the guilt of being just too lucky, and too priveledged, started
overwhelming me again. 60 dollars!
I decided that this money was a sign – I would distribute it
the same way I had done with my last donation. I was just a middle man between those who needed to offer
help, and those who were too in need to receive it. At least, this is what I told myself. Its amazing how easily our minds can be
quieted through half-hearted self-justification. I was just like all those people who wouldn’t take their
hands of the steering wheel.
Still, my luck had swung, and like a poker player with all
his money in the pot and two outs in the deck, I could feel the luck
coming. Two cars pulled up, and
rolled to the corner of the station to inflate their tires. I was feeling lucky, and began asking
some people if they were headed West.
The first few were local. I
approached the two cars filling their tires.
“Y’all heading West?”
A heavy-set, middle-aged gentleman with kind blue eyes
looked at his companion, and back at me, and wavered. Someone was heading west.
“I am headin West, but I don’t give rides to hitchhikers”
was the response from the younger man, who had been silently pressured into
answering by the older gentleman.
I told him that I understood, and did not want to pressure him or make
him uncomfortable, but that I was harmless. He should think it over.
I returned to my spot, and as I did so the attendant emerged
from the store. Great. She smiled as she approached, and
simply asked that I no longer approach customers. If I agreed, I could stay. Seemed pretty fair to me, but I knew that without asking
people my chances of getting a ride this evening were pretty slim.
After about 10 minutes, the gentleman had filled his tires
and approached me confidently.
“Lets go!” he commanded. I was in. I had
no idea how far west he was headed, or how long he’d be driving, but I was
getting out of St. Louis…
Lets call my new friend Bill – I never did get his
name. Bill was a retired army
corporal who drove a semi for a living and lived in Oregon. He was on his way back there, through
Colorado Springs, in the family sedan in which we were now riding. This was the best news I could have
hoped for – I just had to keep him talking until we made it 15 hours West.
It turns out that Bill and I have pretty opposite
worldviews. And Bill sure liked to
express his. I was glad he didn’t
want to hear much about mine. He
told me about farming in Oregon, his family and his kids, his time in the
military, his childhood. We
discussed student loans, the Occupy movement, debt, banks, etc. I chimed in on the occasions we did
agree, and mentally noted my counter-points when we did not. This was no time to be adversarial.
A few hours into the ride, as the sun sank and my Euphoria
wore off, I began dozing. Bill
pulled into a motel about 1 in the morning, explaining that he wanted to sleep
and was getting a room. I was
welcome to sleep in the car or on the floor, he said. I chose the floor, where I laid out my ground pad and was
asleep in seconds. We woke at 6
and headed West again. I began
calling my friends, setting my plans.
I had almost made it!
Hours later, Bill dropped me at the front door of my old
friend Jess in the suburbs of Colorado Springs. I would stay here one night, and then make it to Denver the
next day. I gave Bill 40 of the 60 dollars passed to me by Darren, vowing to
myself that the other twenty would go to someone more in need than either of
us. I wished him luck on his
journeys, and he rode off.
That night, Jess and I relaxed over some Nshima, recounted
our times in Peace Corps, and discussed her life’s path – now entwined in
ecopsychology. We commiserated
about the consumer disconnection and the isolation that our culture offers as
its reward. Once again I was with someone who understood my worldview. And as the ‘mainstream’ regained its
disorderly and unnatural place at the back of my mind and the roots of my
perception, my world made sense again.
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